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ll “l l | OR, THE 91263069660 MMQMGWWQWQSGQOWW A Milli: th W ILL at l l MISSING WWW mommowwwam CIIA I’TICR K V II. "Been to tea at the parsons!" ex- claimed Jimmy Medway with a proâ€" longed stare of astonishment at the unmoved face of his elder brother. "Well, 1 amâ€"” "I had no idea that lngleby was such a good fellow," his brother said, tranquilly. “I wish I had looked him up before.” "What was there to do, Claude?” Lady Gertrude asked, from the depth of her chair, with her usual air of unwilling interest. “Nothing. There lay the charm. Miss Ingleby is a crack pianist and can talk. One listens. lngleby is keen on cricket, wants me to set the village boys on to playâ€"one must, I suppose." "Certainly," Sir Arthur added, looking up from his Morning Post, "that kind of thing is expected of one. And the lnglebys are very good people. You may rely upon it that I should never give the living to a man whom I could not see at my table with pleasure." “But, Claude, just fancy Claude going to tea with the parson,” con- tinued Jimmy, who was sixteen and looked up to his eldest brother as a. prince of fast men. “I always said," murmured Lady Gertrude, suppressing a yawn, “that Claude would develop into a. model squire in time. He will soon be au fait in topâ€"dressings and short-horns â€"â€"excited by turnips and depressed by cattle disease. You know the kind of manâ€"stout. and beefy.” "There is no knowing to what heights we may reach by dint of energy and lofty aspiration,” replied Claude, looking before him with a curious little smile, "even Jim, now, Jim might become a bishop or a Judge. Come, Jim, you are the last, and one of us ought to be in the Church.” All of a sudden a. light seemed to flash upon Jim and he began to chuckle quietly to himself. “Is Jessie Meade a crack piano Player?” he asked, demurely, “or is she keen on cricket?” Claude looked up with an angry frown that only half subdued Jim, who had passed Jessie at the rectory gate that afternon. "Jessie Meade, what about Jessie Meade?” asked Sir Arthur, who had lost the thread of the conversation in his paper. "A very quiet Well-C0 person,” Lady Gertrude remarked, “I really think her quite a godsend for poor dear Ethel. “I don‘t know what poor Miss Meade has done to be called a. young person,” exclaimed Claude with sudâ€" den heat. “Claude is right, my lady," said his father, “it is very dreadful to be called a person, especially a young nducted young person unless one is a young per- son.” “But what on earth is Jessie Meade?” cried Jim. "Isn’t a rough farmer's daughter a young person?” "No, Jim,” replied Sir Arthur, “Miss Mezide, though a miller’s dauâ€"l ghter, is not a mere young person. 419% “(‘11, it's all about nothing. Stupid dinner parties, very slow balls. iarâ€"' 09“ Party at Chiswick, royalties gra- Cious and boring. Love to Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Arthur, weather -melting.. season over, nothing more.” "I believe,” Claude reflected when he was alone, “that the governor is half in love with her himself. \\'ho Could have fancied him solemnly giv- ing out that her beauty was distinc- tion, of admiring the manner of a girl so born? But who could imaâ€" gine that Iâ€"Ah ! Jessie 3 What princess ever moved with so sweet a dignity? Philip Randal, indeed! A clown by her! By Jove, I've lost my head. That I should live to to :.o hard hi:! ll. seemed so easy at first i'l‘he old story, rustic beauty, vanity, Iignorance of life, and so on. I wonâ€" der if any man knows how great a fool he can make of himself for a woman's sake. I never thought there were such women. If my .mother had been such a womanâ€"or Clara. or if I had had such a sisterâ€" I might have been a better fellow; â€"â€"â€"~" A hard, heavy sigh, almost a groan, broke from him; his face set- tled into a frowning rigidity. his eyes darkened, his mouth lost its genial curve. He turned to the open window, gazing over the starâ€"lit summer night. “I must lay my parallels ,with can- tion,” he thought, a slight s...ilc twiching his lips. “How in the lworld can I keep Clara in town? If ishe brings her heavy artillery to bear upon me, what is the good of 'all these gradual saps and well-laid trains? Why won’t she. marry Barâ€" dexter and help me to marry Jessie. lI know she Would like to be a dueliâ€" iess. She winds the governor round “her finger and my mother sees with her eyes. She is clever. I-Ier know- ledge of life is extensive and pecu- liar.” "I am so utterly alone,” Jessie Imused as she passed along in the 'sunny morning, through the fielhs next day “and so absolutely helpless. I cannot be sure of what is right. I can only try to do what I think is rightâ€"if they would but let me! If I could see Philip face to face I might make him understand. poor boy; but he is so far away and let- ters are so different. He thinks himself so wise about me â€"in his man’s arrogance. Hcha manâ€"is a human being; Iâ€"a womanâ€"am a sort of weak attempt at one. If a man could once look into a woman’s heart how surprised he would be." She had reached the edge of a hay field which was' divided from the next by a tiny wooded gorge, at the bot- tom of which gurgled and rippled a bright brown thread of a, stream crossed by a wooden foot-bridge. Sho descended the slope with easy lightâ€"foot grace, and pausing at the bridge and leaning against the slight handâ€"rail looked down, arrested by .the fascination of flowing water, into the brown, shallow stream, dappled ,by leaf shadows and sunlight. She had not waited long before she heard a firm, quick step descending She has ever' qualification for asâ€" from the OPPOSltG field. and looked conding the social scale, Beauty up into the handsome, goodâ€"temper- such as that young lady's is a, disâ€" led face of Mr. Ingleby, at which her tinction in itself, even without such a manner as hers." n "Surely, sir,” objected Jim, a woman takes her father's rank?” “Her husband's,” interrupted Claude. "And Miss Meade is as good as married to a gentleman,” added Sir Arthur. - , “Oh! n oflicer and a gentleman! I daresay But Randal is only a rank- er," Jim urged. “He is a gentleman by birth,” his father replied, with emphasis, and as he spoke he caught Claude's eye on him with a look of surprise and caution. “Oh, I thought he was a foundling, brought up by some fgrmer, and rose from the ranks,” returned Jim; “Well he is engaged to a confoundedly goodâ€"looking girl, that’s all." "After all, what is birth to a woman?" Claude added with a senâ€" tentiousness that highly amused his mother, “rank and name descend by the male side. The son of a duke's daughter may be only Mr. Smith." "Mr. Smith with a difference, a. duke's grandson," Sir Arthur interâ€" iected. I "Still plain Smith, or Smithâ€"Swel- lington at most, sir. But as you said. beauty and manner are the on-' ly needful things for a woman, her name and rank come from her husâ€" band." Sir Arthur was not sufficiently inâ€" terested in the question to point out that this was not. pin-cf:on the pur- port of his 'words. “Did I say so?" he returned with a gentle smile, re- tiring into the seclusion of his Mornâ€" ing Post. "I hope you will go to no tea parties, Claude." said, plainti\‘ely, "they make you ponderous. I wish Clara would come. one does get so bored at lllarwell. Didn‘t somebody say something about having a. letter from lter. by the way?” more his mother "I heard from her 10-day, here is im- letter." (‘laude replied, “you don‘t care to lead it, mother? own brightened, and pretty eagerness, her : said, with a as he approached "I am so glad, Mr. Ingleby. I hope you are not in a hurry, I was on my way to see you.” “Hurry! My dear Jessâ€"Miss Meade is anybody or anything ever in a hurry in the country? Look at this lazy, loitering stream; it seems as if it would never get to the sea." “But it will,” replied Jessie, look- ing thoughtfully dawn into "it it, keeps on, you see, it does the best it can." " 'Books in the running brooks.’ What little sermon are you extractâ€" ing from the Water, Miss Meade?" She looked up with a smile, and he noticed the strained serious set of her face, the blue shadows beneath 'her- eyes, the general fatigued aspect 'Wthh emphasized both her youth and her beauty. “I have so few friends," she said, “and such confidence in you. And I wantedâ€"â€"” “You were going to consult me?" he added, gently. “I only hope I lshall prove worthy of the trust. And Iltf I too stupid, perhaps my sis- - erâ€" , "No," returned Jessie, "I don‘t 'think Miss Ingleby would understand. Oh! Mr. Ingleby," she added, “it is so hard to know what to doâ€"so very hardâ€"" “I should have thought, my dear 'ehild,“ he replied gravely, "that lyoul' life was marked out so clearly fliel‘ere you that you had no need to :ConSidcl‘ that question.” I "That is the trouble of it. Others mark out my life for me: I am not a. free agent. I am obliged to do what I know to be wrong.” I “Surer not. No one who has icharge of you would wish you to do what you know to be wrong.” he rch plied with a gentle rebuke. “I know lthem all. They all treat. me as at ,them all. Jessie, they are all up- :right. true people. Have you spoken to them? But of counc- you v.0uld r l I might at leastâ€"Heaven only knows ‘ ido so before turning to a comparaâ€" tive Stranger like myself," "Yes," she replied with a wonricd air. "I have spoken to them, leach and all. They all treat me as a child, an irresponsible being. Philip forgets “hat a difference nearly two years makes in a girl; besides, he has been through such stirring scenes that he can scarcely be expected to give much thought to my small conâ€" cernsâ€"my life is not in perpetual peril, 301i see." “She is going to b-rrok with that poor fellow." Mr, lnglcbv thought. I .. » r ~ ‘ llard lines for l‘hilip: but what lcould he expect cf such a babe 7 And get she cannot have asked to be set free. No man would bind a girl lagaimi her will." ’ "Jessie," he said aloud. "we can inone of us take our lives in our hands and say no will do this and that with them. Our lines are cast ‘for us, often before “0 are born: huâ€" man beings are so linked and interâ€" twined by tics, of kinship, duty and mutual SOl‘\l(‘(‘ that no man can say .I will go this way regardless of othersâ€"how much less: ,1 “onion!” 1 "llov: much less: indeed!” she broke _out with a bitterness which startled ‘him, “he wonder at Turks who ,keep their women in cages, and at Chinese who deliberately cripple ithem, but Englishmen are quite as bad; though they do leave their bod- ies comparatively free, they cage and cripple their souls." “Tell me all about it," he said, after a brief pause of astonishment, "let us rest upon this felled timber in the shade and not excite our- selves, and you shall tell me, if you can or will, all about this caging and crippling, what you wish to do and what your good friends think of it. I am an old friend; I knew you ias a very little girlâ€"a good little girl though spoilt. I am the parson of the parish, and an old man in comparison with you. I ought. to know more of life and its duties than 'Miss Jessie Meade, and few things would give me greater pleasure than to do her service.” “Yes.” replied Jessie, as she took the place be indicated on the prosâ€" trate treeâ€"trunk in the wood shadow and speaking with a seriousness that 'rather took him aback, “it is not like speaking to a young man; if people; are not wise at your age they never will be.” lIr. Ingleby ruefully passed his hand over his crisp black hair, wondering if he had suddenly turned gray and if crow's feet had gathered round his eyes since the morning. “Wisdom and gray hairs” he muttered, seating himself at her side. "And yet,” she pursued, "you are but a man after all." “True; I was never taken for a (leâ€" miâ€"god, to my knowledge, or a bear, even in youth.” “Mr. Inglcby,” she continued, raisâ€" ing her serious, sweet eyes searching- ly to his, "is not idleness a sin ? Then why must. I live in idleness 7 I have talents. Ought I to bury them in a napkin?” “Good gracious, I hope she isn’t stageâ€"struck,” he thought. “You need never be idle,” he replied, with books, your needle, your pencil, and household tasks; all these things will prepare you for your approaching marriage. My sister will tell you better than I can what a busy, useâ€" ful life you may lead. “The old story,” returned Jessie 'sadly. “No one wants my needle or imy pencil at Redwoods. rl‘hcre are no books, no means of improving ‘one‘s self. As; to household tasks, my cousin has not enough for her- self; if she had she could have extra ,maids. I cannot live at Redwoods; VI am fretting myself away there mud doing no one any goodâ€"ah, per- lhapsâ€"perhaps 1 am doing harmâ€"at ‘least to myself." So she spoke, unfolding her plans to him, her wish to support herself by some suitable occupation, or at der income, which she sadly feared, as she confessed, was partly made up by Philip, as would enable her to procure firstâ€"class instruction, partiâ€" culnrly~ in painting, for which, she was assured, she had talent. Her marriage could not take place yet for some time. That marriage would place her in a position above that in 'which she was born; she needed some education for it. She wished Mr. lugleby to persuade her guardians that Redwoods was no place for her, land that it was. only fitting for her ito go out. into the world in some Ihoncst capacity. To teach in a ggood School for instance. and receive ,lessons at the same time. "You 'know', Mr. lngleby," she said in con- ‘clusion, "that people always get inâ€" ito llllf.t'illt‘f if they have notl to ldo." ‘ VI\’7' .1“: , "And I know that people never ‘med be ltiit‘ unless tilt“, choose." 130 i . ~ . .l'Cllll'llf‘ll, "especially women. “but ‘have you to do with artâ€"the onlyI ‘grcat artists are Dionâ€"~01“ learning ‘9 ,Your duty, Jessie, is to be a wife land mother.” i “Oh!” cried Jessie, with a little , impatient, scornful turn of her head, for she was sick of the wife Imothcr cant. “is it absolutely neces- ISar'v for wives and mothers to be lldlC and dunccs? Men are not told ‘to leaf about in idleness because they are to be husbands and fathers some day. I’hilip was not kept iirom the war on that account." Mr. Ingleby smiled indulgently. as lone smiles at the mischief of a. pretty 1pet kitten, and gently patted her ‘hand. “You shall have plenty to ‘do,” he said, “you know how glad 31 should be if you would teach in the [Sunday School. Then I want to {start a lending library. and a host 'of parish things in which help like iyours would be half the battle. If ‘you like I will suggest to your cou- sin that you should help in the house- and I hold work and have more drawing lessons as well." “Thank you." she replied. with an air so faultlessly incxpressive that ,be could not detect the sarcasm, ,“you mean well.” She sat with her hands. on one of Which Mr. Ingleby had laid his own ('aressingly, clasped on her knee. :looking before her at the hroun flow- 'ing stream, in a sort of hopeless sil- ;cncc for some moments, revolving lthings in her mind. and wondering if she dared trust him with the ltruth. and if. even in that case. he would help her to what she know ‘10 be her only Safe course. He, in the meantime. was thinking serious- ,l,v of her, and pondering what the ikey to her discontent might be. How account for the fatigued. worn look ,in the sweet young face? Had he ,not seen her only the night before lat his own table. as happy. and pleaâ€" sant, and unconscious of self as any 'well-conditioned young girl could hope to be ? And those irrational ,fears of his respecting the danger of lher frequent contact with Claude Medway had all been laid to rest. "l‘here was neither coquetry nor van- ‘ity in Jcssm; it was evident that she and Medway were able to meet. however frequently, on such distant ,‘terms as excluded any possibility of .touching each other's hearts; her ’position was high enough to insure respect, and too low to admit. of in- timacy. But thr-rc was a depth of sorrowful meaning in Jessie's face, and a gentle, patient endurance in the slightly drooping attitude that ,went to his heart. Redwoods must lbe, after all, a most uncongenial lhomu for such a girl. Philip's dis~ tance and danger must be a heavy sorrow. And then Mrs. I’lummer's tongue! I’hilip had been alluded to in a manner which indicated that he was not held the most faultless lovers; perhaps there was some lovâ€" ers' quarrel hard to bear at such a distance. and by the girl who was ‘lcft behind. There was an evident ldesire to leave Redwoods at the bot- tom of it all, a desire due, perhaps, partly to the restlessness of a long engagement. Perhaps it was only a temporary rebellion against cirâ€" cumstances, brought on by a fit of temper, an unsatisfacttory letter from India, Cousin Jane‘s tongue, or some sudden disgust at the men I’lummer's rough Ways. mingled with the discontent of a spoiled child. >But the look in Jessie’s face touched him deeply, reason as he would. durâ€" ing the long silence in which he stu- died it; a silence emphasized by the murmur of the stream upon its mos- sy stones, the gentle sigh of the summer wind through the leafy boughs, the twitter and persistent chirp of chaf‘finch and starling, the hum of insects, and the rustle of small creatures among dead leaves and twigs. They were so quiet that a butterfly poised on a beech- spray almost touching Jessie’s head, and a bee hummed about a spike of wood-betony which rustled against her skirts. (To be Continued.) ____+_.____ SUME BIG LUUUMUTNES MACHINES THAT CAN HAUL 100 LOADED CARS. More Cars to the Train Hauled Now-aâ€"days Than Formerly. "The giant freight locomotive of toâ€"day,” said a railroad man, “walks away easily with many times the load hauled by the freight engine of twenty-five years *ago, and it has simply revolutionized the freight trafâ€" fic business. "The old-time freight engines weighâ€" ed from 60,000 to 90,000 pounds, ex- ‘clusiwe of the tender, which weighed from 45,000 to (30,000 pounds. In those days the freight cars were from 26 to 28 feet long, their average weight was ten tons, the maximum load carried to a car was ten tons, and the average number of cars to a train was twenty-five or thirty. “Call the number of cars to a train thirty, for the sake of illustraâ€" tion, and say that each car was load- ed to its maximum capacity, and you ‘have a train of cars weighing 300 tons, carrying a load of the saute :weight, making, as hauled by the old [time locomotive, a total load of GOD tons. "The big modern freight locomoâ€" tive weighs from 195,!)01) to 220,!100 ipounds, exclusive of the tender, which :wcighs about 1161,000 pounilsi or. to :1)llt these engine weights in tons, {while the old engine, with its tender iincludcd, weighed altogether approxiâ€" lnmtuly sixty-slgvcn tons. the modern engine, with its tender complete, weighs about 17310115, and this :giant loromotive can haul on a lewl road 100 loa'ied cars, and these cars iarc heavier than the old-time cars, and all carrying ‘ MUCH llEAVliilt LOADS. made box cars of and on The forty- feet r “There are now a capacity of forty tons. some roads of fifty tons. ton car, for example, is forty long and weighs nineteen tons. “Observe that the capacity of this car is more than double the Weight of the car itself, while in the old- time car, with the capacity and the weight of the car equal. there was as much dead weight hauled as freight. by better In all modern Car building and more scientific construction a constant effort has becn made, and with increasingly successful results. to increase the car capacith in pro- portion to the weight of the car. "But, while such highly t-conmnical cars have now come into use, the of~ .._..._.a..... igreat majority of the cars running .throughoul the country have not yet ibecn brought up to so high a standâ€" ard. If you should take the cars as you actually find them running toâ€" day you would find them to averagfi a length of about 35 feet and a weight of 15 tons as against the old-l ,timc 2R-foot. ltbton freight car. i "As to the load now carried, it is! ,pretty difficult to strilgc an m'c’ruge,‘ but that could probably be set downi 25 at tons. as against the oldâ€"time; 1maximum lOâ€"ton load, making the: present day average box car and loadl together weigh 40 tons. against thoi old time total of 20 tons. "And now if you will take a train; of to-day of sixty loaded cars, whichl is far below the average {or level‘, roads, you will find n big engine hauling a train of twice as many cars as were hauled in an old-time train, and these loaded cars weighing twice as much. or sixty cars of a toâ€" tal load of ~10 tons each. as against thirty cars of 20 tons each, making the total load hauled new four times the old load, or 2.400 TONS AGAINST 600. “And don't forget that while in the GOOâ€"ton load more than 50 per cent. was dead weight, in the 2,400â€"ton load the dead Ileigh't is only about 38 per cent. and the revenue weight; about 60 per cent. And, as we have] seen, in the most modern cars thei proportion of the freight weight carâ€"l ried to the dead weight is larger. still. "We have used as a basis for figur- ing a train of sixty average C. re. But' as I have said, that would be far below the average of the number of cars hauled by great trunk lines run- ning through level regions. On such: lines they have trains of 100 loaded cars. making the weight hauled. say, 4,000 tons; and trains of 95 loaded. cars are not uncommon, and the avâ€"; erage number of cars to a train on: such roads might be set down at 85, or 90. 1 "These figures are largely approxi-i mate, but they show the revolution in) freight hauling that has been wrought! with the aid of the modern freight 10â€", comotive. “The great locomotives have inâ€", creased the efficiency of the railroads; in many ways. If, for instance, it; should be sought to haul with en-" gincs of the old»time power the enor- mously increased amount of freight that the railroads have now to hanâ€"f dlc, there would be so many trains on the roads that they couldn't move and the roads would be practically blocked. “Of course, the big locomotive is vastly more economical. It costs twice as much as the oldâ€"time loco- motive did to begin with, but that is really an inconsiderable item as com- pamd with the increase in the amount of work it does. “The big engine can be run by the same number of men that handled the little one, and with power brakes on the cars the same crew can handle the bigger train. LABOR COSTS MUCH MORE than it formerly did, and the big engine burns more fuel, and of course the cost of the supplies needed for th running of the big train is great- er and so is the cost of repairs; but all this greatly increased expense is spread over so much more freight hauled that the actual cost of hauling has been reduced and freight is now hauled cheaper than ever. “The great modern freight locomo- tive couldn’t be used on roads as they used to build them, and so they lay nowâ€"aâ€"days far heavier rails than for- merly; where they used to put down rails of fifty or sixty pounds to the yard they now lay looâ€"pound rails to sustain the added weight of the great engine. . "And as far heavier rails are laid; for these great engines to run 011,: very different appliances and machin- ery are used’ in handling them when off the road. In old times, for ex- ample, when they had one of those little old engines in the shop for re- pairs, if they had occasion to raise it they used to jack it up. Nowâ€"a,â€" days they have tremendous cranes that will lift one of these ponderous engines as easily as the great engine itsvlf will haul its heavy load on the lrails. “And as to the roads, again, be- sides heine: relaid with far heavier rails they have been further improved and the hauling of far heavier loads over them made possible by far betâ€" ter construction and by the straightâ€" .ening out of curves and the reducing of grades, and all these improvements ‘have of course contributed greatly to lthe present. day pillcicncv of the “finds lln the h'llllln‘: of freight; but all these things together wouldn't count for llllUCh without the modern freight loco. Emotive, the giant engine tilut walks away across the country easily haul- ing a h-Indrl’d loaded freight cars." ‘ _.__.§____. THE NICW ARRIVAL. The birth of a child among the working-class in Cumberland, ling- land, has been from time imam-mor- ial. and is still, celebrated by the making of a mixture called “rum- butter." Its inercdicnts are butter, i sugar, rum, and spices, and it is a. really palatable compound. Every person entering the house where a. birth has takr-n place is offered a, taste for several weeks after the event. It is an insult to the child and its parm:ts to refuse the prooft 'fercd dainty, and not to proffer it is considered equally (listcozirteous, are indeed are not Old bachelors in India fortunate. \‘Jidows than: ipermittcfl to marry again.